Empty Skies
by Hushabye
Summary: The struggle between God and assassin.


_This was written while engrossed with the song __**Rosemary**__ by Deftones._  
_Randomness, including spontaneous, light(ish) smut, ahead. You have been warned._

He felt like death- cold in temperature and austere in everything else. Slender fingers wrapped about her belaboring wrist, oddly reminding her of a present masked by slab upon slab of tape. She found herself wondering how they would feel against, or inside, other parts of her person.

Instead, somehow, magically, Natasha shot the ground, the bullet in the vicinity of where she had come close to falling. How paltry. How **_foolish._**

The muzzle pointed toward, near, about the edge of Loki's boot. He had almost been hit. _Almost._

Almost was never an option.

Dwelling was another misguidance.

Sharp nose leaned in, as if he knew what she wanted. Perhaps what she didn't as well. Hot, scentless breath invaded her senses, smell surprisingly overbearing in its quest for dominance. It curled around the shell of her ear and slid precariously along the clenched line of her ivory throat, taunting her already thundering pulse. She was taken by his hold on her, the sight of their shadows stretched across the swaying grass; the taste of blood.

She had been hit, though with what he had first suggested. Bare knuckles, making it appear personal. She almost dreaded to believe it had become that.

Metallic liquid rolled down her tongue in thin, pathetic rivulets. Spitting would be disgraceful. Swallowing allowed a seeping warmth to flow past her esophagus, forcefully re-entering her body. Her bright, slackening eyes were then led to his gaping head wound, mentally, somewhat physically, comparing injuries. This put her into a greater predicament, as even that did not give her any hints, metaphorical or otherwise, toward the entailment of his thought process. Tricking him did not last as long as it had before.

This time was different. This confrontation. This **contest.**

Silence transformed into the next target. The wind ruffled unkempt, spattered hair, lifting the strands from their once comfortable place atop bruised shoulders. Loki gripped Natasha tighter; tighter still. More blood gathered in that very place, assuming the same shape, though an obviously darker shade of his fingers. She winced, annoyance and intrigue combining at the top of her stomach, trickling along the lining in a strange, alluring way.

She would not release her weapon. He pulled her flush against him, one hand flat across her back.

"Come now, we've no use for that," he purred, digging his nails into her taut flesh. "If I have not used magic, why should you feel the need to use that cacophonous gadget?"

The trigger was deafening to Natasha in those few seconds. Its rounded belly, pregnant with denial, fit the pad of her index just so. Unblemished. She could have escaped from the very beginning, but that would have lost the edge these concurrences always seemed to gain.

Wide pupils, half-lidded, were rather sinuous in their endeavor across prominent facial features. She grinned, not letting herself expose stained teeth to derision. Her spinning mind made her feel insane; wild. Loki brought her out in a manner indescribable.

"What's stopping you from prying it out of my hand?" she questioned. Her muscles cramped, having stayed in the same position for an extension she was not accustomed to. "Do you think I'm impotent? Unable to take care of myself?"

He stared at her a long moment, noticing the changes in her expression. Her aura was surrounded by a layer of static he could not seem to sift through. Was that why he propped her up in the back of his mind for safekeeping, pulling her out when he felt the need to be pitted against a worthy opponent? Was that why being baffled and betrayed by his own gifts was so _intoxicating?_

"Yes," he lied. "You are no more fit to face me than a wingless, legless, _lifeless,_ insect." The hand splayed between her shoulder blades became a claw, drawing in its suspecting prey.

She did not appear to be fazed by his answer, nor his action. And she truly wasn't.

Her inhalations and exhalations matured into deep, impenetrable breaths, balancing her stature. "I have to be _some _sort of challenge for you to waste your precious **_magic_** on coming here." A red curl attached itself to her cheek, rebellious in nature. "Or do you just enjoy playing with your food?"

Smirking. He never grew tired of letting others know how devious that unsound mind of his was.

The bridge of a nose that had yet to stray from her countenance swept across her jawline, and she had to either look toward the sky or gaze upon the crown of his head. She chose what was waiting above.

"It may have reached a point where I would much rather play with you in _disparate_ ways." Scalding, rough words fashioned a winding trail along the same path his nose had taken, moving in a fast, painfully likable manner. She fought him. This was a _**fight**__,_ after all. However, mentally, somewhat physically, she could not.

The hand not occupied by a misleading tangibility sent shivers racing to meet the end of Loki's spine. Natasha bunched his disheveled tresses against the nape of his neck and massaged his vertebra, using a circular, pressing motion to her advantage.

Both sighed, an unexpected harmony.

Fingertips skidded, knowing exactly what she would follow through with. She forced him toward her neck, and he laughed, the sound reverberating against their chests.

Natasha's compliance did not allow Loki time to process, nor to prepare, for the knee to his gut. An escape she could have executed when they had first lost themselves. She wanted to linger.

He toppled backward, landing amongst the rigid dirt. Needless to say, he did not have to. Standing to his staggering height was nowhere near impossible. But what he himself followed through with seemed like a _much_ better idea.

Those beryl irises attained a murkiness Natasha had not encountered until what came in the guise of a defining moment. They caused her to feel adorned in nudity. Strong, never not, but with a certain weakness.

Agony. It was a controlling emotion that could be handled in strides. Numbness, on the other, slit hand, was paralyzing. Lack of feeling proliferated through her arm, making it seem heavier; dislocated. She swilled more blood and held her head high, swimming with confidence that could not be drained as she set herself up over Loki's form.

Despite the obvious show of command, he would not wipe that same contortion from his mouth. Bending both legs, Natasha straddled him, promptly shoving the gun into his sternum. She said naught, breathed naught, as she dragged the bitter armament across his torso.

Watching her with eyes that seemed to cloud over in no palpable amount of time, Loki stayed absolutely still- frozen. Her limb fluctuated, but it did not hinder her alertness. The grip panel of her pistol comforted her, though what truly made her feel powerful was the undeniably fast thrum in her ears. It was as if she had already fired her weapon.

Petite nose leaned in, barrel now poised alongside the god's throat. "What would you do if your food played back, hmmm? Devoured _you _for a change?" Loki's lids flickered, subject to the different scenarios flashing across barely closed screens. Her lips pressed to his Adam's apple, slowly bobbing, clearing his passageway. "I can't, for the life of me, see you protesting. And I know you find it as equally doubtful."

Natasha crept up, looking him dead on, a death grip he held over her at one point. He stared down, straining his neck. "What's stopping you from finding out, _Natasha?"_

Normally, the one utterance of her first name would have been taken graciously. But the manner in which Loki conveyed this otherwise personal gesture forced her to do nothing but take it, instead, as a challenge.

"Get rid of what you evidently believe to be protecting you." His pupils traveled toward the edge of his eyes, referring to her choice of defense mechanism.

She paid no heed to his demanding suggestion, index finger suspended above the trigger, stroking its algid curve. The muzzle drifted across Loki's throat, and she left kisses in its cutting wake. Everywhere the gun touched, she did as well, a few drops of blood here and there, consuming the rest.

The fallen prince was at a loss. He felt her nails trace his collarbone, slipping inside his Midgardian attire, standing out even more by trying to blend in. Before she carried on, the brumal hardness of her weapon would slither past, evoking a rushing cold accompanied by a thundering heat.

Why was he allowing this to continue?

That internally voiced question brought with it a harsh roll of Natasha's hips, beckoning Loki to respond to a greater extent.

A stinging sensation exploded within him, both the touch of the muzzle and the punitive expression of lust proving to be a lethal combination. She would not cease. He felt himself being pressed painfully against his trousers, dragged across his crimson belly. He throbbed as she rubbed her heated middle back and forth along his buried, stiff length, setting her elbows on top of the grass to attain a more relaxing experience.

Natasha eventually stopped, but only for a moment, and only to angle her gun toward Loki's agitated genitals. She leaned in further once again, making her intentionally stab him, grinding it into him just as she had her ample shape.

_"Take it,"_ she hissed, potentially referring to a myriad of things. He stared at her, as he had before, grinding his teeth in frustration and thick need. This was no longer a want, as it had been when this little _game_ was first initiated, but a _need._ A raw, violent **_need_**, to strip from her everything that could be a possible threat to him. To, ultimately, force her into powerlessness.

What else could he do _but_ **_take it?_**

In one swift motion, Loki had her flat on her back, fingers straining while thrust atop her hands, holding the firearm in place. It continued to dig itself an invisible, unpleasant hole, but he had the base creating a groove between the lips of her shielded womanhood in justifiable retaliation. He was able to take the gun from her completely when the disturbance took a desired effect, distracting her momentarily. He anchored his chest above hers and turned the hard grip into her over and over, the last thing on his mind that of reversing the placement and killing her where she lay.

It was all too easy. Not enough breadth, nor fun.

Something told him, additionally, that she wouldn't have let her guard down in such a way if she didn't want this.

This

**_pain._**

He promptly removed the obstruction- the divider- and tossed it aside. She furrowed her brow and crinkled her nose, and yet, he was still able to receive a distressed buck of her waist, intentions finally known. Cold fingers slithered beneath warm clothing, caressing heated skin as they traveled, exploring her vivid torso. He was severe in his actions, bringing them right back down, ripping carelessly through her jeans.

"I will take, **_Natasha," _**he growled. His lean body spread, arching downward toward that delectable spot on her person. Delivering a stern lick to her stomach caused him to feel her moan, which proved to be more erotic than the revelation itself. She was becoming desperate. For everything.

Her underwear was peeled back, the front absolutely shredded, utterly ruined. He noticed they were simple- black; cotton. Blending in with their surroundings. More importantly, to her, _her_ surroundings.

Those same fingers, very same fingertips, pumped inside Natasha's scalding middle. He immediately rotated his hand so his palm faced upward, a suddenness they each craved. Such abrupt movements were enough to force a slightly louder, clearer declaration of carnal urges from the bottom of her throat. A willing grin appeared upon his lips as he wriggled them about, feeling her begin to drip; loving the wet sound her arousal disclosed.

_"And take."_

Loki left her empty, and she whimpered in protest. His hand was, to her relief, replaced by his slippery tongue, enclosing her center to a degree she had not yet encountered. No patch was unmarked. He was ruthless, slashing vigorous swipes, slicing through every inch.

_"And take."_

He unzipped and freed himself, keeping his mouth right where it was. Natasha felt her cheeks redden, almost swelling with mere thought. She had been biting her tongue the entire time to prevent herself from ruining what had been assembled; deserved. The blood still spurting was not as profound, though it tasted like unspoken words. So many things to say, and yet, nothing to say at all.

She was, this time, letting herself forget who she was. And she was far from ashamed.

Soon, he would be interred deep within. To fill and to hollow her out further.

He pushed her hips down, the heels of his hands twisting against her fleshy bones. Her eyelids fluttered. She hadn't broken that contact with him until now. Fading in and out.

**"Until there is nothing left."**

A brief glance, showing a meager amount of something meaningful. Breasts heaved, matching darkened hearts.

Loki, all at once, shoved himself inside. Natasha was unequivocally lost, looking toward the empty skies, littered with stars.


End file.
